


Collateral Damage ("The Election" Missing Scenes)

by May Robinson (May7fic)



Category: Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May7fic/pseuds/May%20Robinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing Scenes for "The Election". When eldest brother Adam runs for office against the county's corrupt sheriff, 18 year-old Daniel gets caught in the crossfire. Brother Crane's POV as a battered and wrongly accused Daniel is delivered home in handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collateral Damage ("The Election" Missing Scenes)

**Author's Note:**

> Since the series disappeared into obscurity after only one season (1982/83), I thought I'd include a quick blurb about it to help refresh 30 year-old memories: 
> 
> Seven Brides for Seven Brothers was a contemporary western/family drama based very loosely on the musical/movie of the same name. The series itself only had one bride, Hannah, who married the eldest of the 7 McFadden brothers, 27 year-old Adam. Having lost both parents about 10 years previously, they all lived under one big roof on their struggling Murphys, California cattle ranch, with Adam as head of the family. The other brothers were: Brian (25), Crane (21), Daniel (18), Evan (16/17), Ford (15/16) and Guthrie (12). The cast included a number of soon-to-be familiar faces such as: Richard Dean Anderson (Adam); Terri Treas (Hannah); Drake Hogestyn (Brian); Peter Horton (Crane); Roger Wilson (Daniel); Tim Topper (Evan); Bryan Utman (Ford) and; River Phoenix (Guthrie)

* * *

"Come 'ere."

Daniel steps into my grasp and suddenly it feels like he's nine again, hurt and angry and unable to comprehend why his world has turned so radically upside down. And though I'm an adult now, I'm feeling about as helpless as I did at twelve.

Our _good_ sheriff, Buck Tanner, is fabricating lies about my bruised and battered brother and though I could kick myself for not preventing this; not realizing sooner that Daniel was about to become an innocent pawn sucked into this election battle, I can't take the time to berate myself.

Daniel's breaths are coming hard and fast as he listens to that man spew his garbage and I can tell my little brother is about to explode… or come apart. Despite a niggling concern that his ribs might be in the same shape as his face, I pull him in and hold on tight. Saving my stubborn and proud brother from himself and letting him know he's not alone.

I breathe a little easier when he doesn't fight me. He's far from relaxed but gives in, dropping his head to my chest when I settle a hand behind his neck and draw him in closer, resting my head atop his like when we were kids. And hope the calmness I'm trying to project will help him endure Buck's slander. Hannah's here too, rubbing his back and doing her best to comfort him. We both grip Daniel a little tighter though when that jackass _tells_ us to hold onto him, taunting us like this kid is some serial killer. Thank God Brian isn't home to hear this; otherwise we'd be scrambling to come up with bail money by morning.

At Adam's prompting, the sheriff finally removes the handcuffs and, as we separate, Daniel pulls his hands in too slowly between us. Even in the dim light of our living-room, I can tell his wrists are abraded and hurting. That not only did he have to suffer the humiliation of being unjustly handcuffed, that bastard put them on way too tight. They sure as hell didn't have to be that secure. This I know.

As Daniel tries to shake off the tingling pain, I grasp and rub his hands, trying to return some warmth and circulation to them. Now that he's been released, Adam not surprisingly tells us to take him upstairs. Well, he tells Hannah, actually. And even though she's perfectly capable of tending to Daniel, and a part of me wants to stay down here and backup Adam as he undoubtedly confronts Buck, a bigger part of me needs to stay with my little brother. Make sure he's truly all right.

"Come on, I wanna get something on that face." Hannah's already checking Daniel over as I pat him on the back and the two of us steer him past the sheriff.

"Do a number on us…"

Daniel starts to voice his anger and any doubt I had about going with him dissipates as I firmly grip his shoulders from behind and harshly whisper, "quit it," into his ear. The last thing I want to do is snap at him, but Daniel's got a target on him now – Buck's made that perfectly clear – and even sensitive and smart 18 year-olds have a tendency to be reckless, especially with their mouths.

As I usher Daniel up the stairs following Hannah, I realize how glad I am that he can hear Adam standing up for him. Hear his controlled anger. And the absolute certainty in his innocence. Daniel may be almost fully grown but he still worships Adam, and I know he needs to hear that nothing that happened tonight let Adam or this family down.

* * *

Heading for the room Daniel and I have shared since he took his first steps, I feel resistance as he slows and softly demands, "No, wait." The restrained urgency I hear stops me cold.

"Daniel?" Hanna asks, before I have a chance to.

"I, uh…" He's looking at the floor and sounding shaky again and that doesn't sit well with me at all.

"Hey." The _it's okay_ is implied, as is the older brother command wrapped up in that single word, telling him to look at me and let me know what's going on.

Framed by increasingly livid bruises, his eyes are full of hurt when he does look up, and I reach out to hold his neck again. "What do you need?"

"A shower," he says, his voice sounding a little stronger. It doesn't last long though, trailing off as he barely whispers, "I need to get rid of this smell."

Oh, damn. My concern for Daniel's bruised face and desire to get him away from his accuser had somehow managed to block out this newest revelation... the rancid stench of alcohol, sweat and blood, clinging to him everywhere like he's been drenched in it. There's no way in hell Daniel could smell this much like booze unless he'd been rolling in it. Or some thugs held him down and poured it all over him.

His eyes are lowered again and over his head my eyes meet Hannah's and by the look of sick horror on her face; I know she's come to the same bitter conclusion. She's as outraged as I am and that's made us both speechless, the silence bringing Daniel's head back up, his shame-filled eyes searching mine.

I try to mask my emotions, tamp down the shock and anger, but my kid brother is also my best friend and we know each other too well. As I try desperately to keep mine from doing the same, Daniel's eyes fill. "Okay, Danny," I say, using the name no one but Adam and I have been permitted to call him since our parents' deaths, and I smile sadly, reassuringly, before turning to Hannah and telling her, "I've got this."

Thankfully she understands, doesn't put up an argument, even though I can tell she wants to. She's got strong maternal instincts and will make a wonderful mother someday. Hell, in many ways, she already is one. And maybe that's why she's backing off now. She knows how close Daniel and I are and she knows that Daniel is already vulnerable these days – trying to walk that fine line between boy and man, even at the best of times. He tries so hard to be an adult, to help carry the responsibility of this ranch. But right now he needs a shoulder to cry on, or maybe just to hold him up. I'll let him decide. Either way, that shoulder's mine.

"Sure," she says kindly. "You boys call if you need me." And she leaves us alone, but not before easing next to Daniel, cupping his face, and placing a gentle kiss in his sticky, foul-smelling hair.

Adam sure married one hell of a woman.

* * *

"Okay, let's get you cleaned up." I know the upbeat tone rings false but it, along with a light pat to his back, still have the desired effect and Daniel stands a little straighter and walks through the bathroom doorway.

I try to follow him inside but that's where he draws the line at my hovering. "Uh uh, bro, I can handle this," and as much as I need to get a closer look at whatever damage was inflicted on him, I'm heartened by the spark of protest, so I relent.

"Yeah, you can," I agree, probably a little too brightly. But being supportive when he's down is about as instinctive to me as breathing. At the click of the lock though, that's where _I_ draw the line. Ever since Hannah moved in, locking the bathroom door has become the norm. But not tonight. My, "No way, Daniel. Not this time," comes out a little too harsh and I can't help but hear our oldest brother's voice coming out of my mouth. I know he's been through hell though, been at the mercy of other people all night, so I lighten my tone, sounding a little more like myself again when I tell him to leave the door unlocked. "Let me bring you something clean to change into, okay?"

He doesn't say a word and I find myself holding my breath, exhaling shakily only when I hear the release of the lock. The immense relief I feel that he's listened, put his trust in me after a night of betrayal and deceit, bubbles up within me and I finally let my knees weaken. Sliding down to the floor, I wrap my arms around my knees and lean my head against the cool solidity of the door. Tears are threatening to spill but I fight them back. For the most part. I won't let myself sob the way I want to. The way that twelve year-old once did.

It's only when I hear the water come on and the shower curtain scrape back and forth along the rod do I pick myself up, pull myself back together. This night is far from over.

I make my way down the hall and almost make it to our room when the door to Evan and Ford's room creaks open slightly. Ford hesitantly pokes his head out of the space, sleep and confusion evident on his face. "Is everything all right?" he asks, and in seeing our penultimate brother I mentally do a quick McFadden inventory and remember that while Brian is out with a lady-friend, Evan is away for the night too. Grateful that not only are both of my hot-headed brothers out tonight, their absence means that Guthrie is bunking with Ford and was spared witnessing Daniel's humiliation and hurt unfold right in the middle of his makeshift bedroom. Thank heaven for small mercies.

"Shhh, don't wake Guthrie," I admonish, adding, "Everything's okay. Go back to bed."

Ford doesn't look at all convinced but so far he hasn't been pushing his boundaries with me the way he's been doing lately with Daniel. Still, the boy's going to find out about this whole mess in the morning, I might as well offer him a morsel of truth.

"Daniel's had a really bad night but he's gonna be fine. I've got it under control, all right?"

Concern flashes briefly across Ford's face but then he nods his head, giving me a watered down version of one of his infectious smiles. "Yeah, you'll look after him," he says. So confidently I almost believe it myself.

* * *

I'm sitting on his bed, sorting through the first-aid kit Hannah brought me when Daniel walks into our room. Despite red-rimmed eyes I know have no more to do with wayward shampoo than mine do, he looks better. The shower clearly helped him wash away tonight's grime and maybe even some of its misery.

He also looks slightly irritated with me and I can't help but smile. I know why, too. After all, I only gave him a pair of sweats to change into. After a night like he's had, I hate manipulating him like that but I need to check him over, make sure nothing's hidden that he might've missed.

"You think you're slick, don't you?" he says, but he's not reaching for anything more to put on either. He knows I'm only looking out for him. Besides, as he roughly scrubs a towel through his hair and I catch a glimpse of mottled red and purple on his left side, any guilt I feel for my subterfuge quickly drops away. I know that my worries aren't unfounded. He was beaten there too.

I'm standing in front of him before I realize I've even gotten off of the bed. "Let me see," I insist, running my hands over the bruising along his ribcage.

"Get off me!" He's practically shouting as he shoves me away, but it's the near panic tainting his voice and not the volume that has the desired effect. I drop my hands as if they've been burned.

Daniel's a scrapper, stronger than he looks, and would've put up one hell of a fight. If I had any doubt about that, all I have to do is look at his bruised and scraped knuckles to tell me otherwise. But the old adage passed on to me, Brian and Adam from our dad through us to the younger boys: "it's not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog" only goes so far.

The truth is, unlike his older brothers, Daniel's just not very big, and I've seen the size of the guys that frequent The Alamo. Visions I've been trying to keep at bay finally break through and assail my mind. Daniel… outnumbered, restrained and beaten. By men twice his size who think forcing whiskey down a kid's throat is a joke.

And that kid scared and powerless against them.

Ashamed and sick, I back away from him until my legs hit the edge of his bed and buckle for the second time tonight. A wave of nausea assaults my senses and I let my head drop into my hands. Though I desperately want to apologize to my brother, mortified by the manhandling _I've_ just put him through, I haven't a clue what to say to make any of this right.

"Hey, Crane? Buddy? You okay?"

My beaten brother's worried about me and, if that isn't wrong, I don't know what is. The concern in his voice is genuine, always is with Daniel, and I drag my hands wearily down my face, giving my head a shake to snap out of it, before looking up at the concerned face in front of me.

I plaster a weak smile on my face and meet his anxious gaze. "Right as rain, kid", I reply, sounding more like Brian than me. Which means Daniel doesn't buy what I'm selling, of course.

"Riiiight," he scoffs and then proceeds to do what little brothers have done for older brothers for generations. He tries to please me.

"Hey, I'm okay, see?" He insists, raising his arms about shoulder level and turning around slowly so that I can give his ribcage an inspection. Giving in. Though, after all he's been through tonight, I prefer to think of it as giving me his permission.

He's right though and subconsciously I knew when he was drying his hair that his ribs couldn't be all that bad off. Still, there's one particularly vivid mark that has me a little concerned. And fuming again since it looks suspiciously like the impression of a metal boot tip.

Gently prodding it until he hisses, I apologize, then ask, "Daniel, did you get kicked?" My voice sounding calm, despite my building fury.

He's straining to check it himself, trying to get a look at it in the mirror we share. "I don't know, Crane. Don't remember… Honest." And after tonight's onslaught, why _would_ he remember the specifics?

"It's okay," I say softly, standing up again. Then I continue a little more sternly, "Lift your arms. All the way up this time, all right?"

He gives me an eye roll but does as he's asked. Or tries to. "Shit," he falters and it's pretty obvious which ribs are bothering him.

"How bad?" I ask, helping him ease his arms back down. They didn't feel broken when I went over them but, given Daniel's reaction just now, they're likely cracked.

"I've had worse at branding time," is his reply and, looking at the certainty in his eyes, I believe him. I know it's not 18 year-old bravado talking but rather the experience of a young man who's grown up on a cattle ranch. In this household, only Ford, Guthrie and Hannah have been spared the thrill of getting hit by flailing bovine hooves. More than once. Daniel knows what he's talking about. Still, it doesn't hurt to remind him that cracked ribs aren't to be taken lightly.

"Okay, but you know you're grounded, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he answers, clearly unhappy about the fact. "No riding. I know."

He looks even more miserable now. And so damn young standing there with his bangs plastered to his forehead. The neanderthals that beat up my brother and smashed his equipment have managed to take something else away from him too.

"It won't be for long, kid," I say with confidence, carding a hand through his damp hair. "You'll be riding again in no time." All he does is nod his head and I realize just how exhausted he must be. God knows I am. It's not even midnight, not all that late for a Friday night, but we're both done in. And he still needs to be patched up.

"Come on." He leans into me as I guide him back to his bed, admonish him to stay upright. He knows the drill and doesn't resist, until I show him the tube of horse liniment in my hand. "Speaking of horses, you ready for this?"

"Aw, man, I just showered."

I almost let him get away with it. Until I think about why he needs it in the first place. "Hey, if I'm willing to put up with it, you can," I tell him. He smirks at that but it falls away when I add, "Besides, you won't be able to roll out of bed in the morning without it."

"Fine." He relents, knowing I'm right. But then pulls out his ace card and gives me one of his best pitiful looks garnered from the little brothers' handbook. "Just go easy, okay?"

I do, or at least try. By the time I've rubbed in the liniment, cleaned up his cuts and scrapes and nearly emptied an entire tube of antibiotic ointment onto his mangled wrists, I feel about as spent as he looks. I almost regret not asking for Hannah's help. Almost. I needed to do this for my brother. And I think he really needed me too. Not once did he ask for Adam and, even when our oldest brother came up to check on him and brought an ice pack for that nasty shiner under his eye, it was me whose help Daniel wanted getting him into one of my t-shirts, and me he leaned on when Adam handed him some Tylenol and a glass of water. I hate with every ounce of my being the fact that Daniel had to go through this ordeal but, I have to admit there's always a tiny selfish part of me that is thrilled whenever I know I've measured up, been able to meet my brother's needs like no one else can.

* * *

Daniel's been sleeping soundly for a while now and I should be too, but I can't bring myself to leave him yet. I know he's all right but I need to keep watch, irrationally but instinctively convinced that he still needs me. Besides, I can't shut off my brain.

Buck Tanner, Ben Tobey and their flunkies can't get away with this and somehow I'm going to stop them. I'm supposed to be the smart brother, the one this family relies on to think our way out of jams. And I'll do it too, I have to. Even though what I really want is to see those men bleed. I just have to make my brain settle down and think. It's not helping that the moonlight shining through our window is creating harsh shadows across Daniel's face, emphasizing the beating he took and rekindling the rage that's been brewing inside me all night.

Daniel stirs in his sleep and my heart begins to pound as a soft whimper parts his lips. Caught in the beginning throes of a nightmare, he thrashes against what should be my soothing touch and my blood turns from hot to glacial cold. Damn those men. I try again to reach him but this time with my voice. Leaning in, just next to his ear, I'm vaguely aware that if this doesn't go well, I could end up with a black-eye matching my brother's. It doesn't matter.

"It's okay, Daniel," I breathe. "You're safe."

With that promise, he settles and now I know I can go to sleep too. But not before I whisper a solemn vow to my kid brother. I _am_ going to make Tanner and Tobey pay for this. One way or another.

_\- fin -_  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sue for getting this category rolling over here and to Katt, as always, for being such an awesome beta.


End file.
